


Of Coffee and Dinner

by Pyx



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse of the French Language, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cats, Coffee Shops, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Grantaire has some problems with self esteem, I just want them all to be happy, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Burn, Snowball Fights, all this dirty stuff starts chapter 3, background combeferre - Freeform, eponine and cosette give me life, kind of, literally the opposite of angst, my french is terrible, sorry about that, there are a couple chapters the solely focus on them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8567821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyx/pseuds/Pyx
Summary: Grantaire is a starving artist living in Chicago and working in a coffee shop. Enjolras is a professor at the university across the street. And they're neighbors. And god, Grantaire just needs a break.





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been reading the brick and trying to get all the characters' personalities is really difficult for me. But Grantaire and I are basically the same person...and Enjolras is a lot like one of my best friends, so it just so happened to work out that I love them as a pairing. Also, wouldn't it be nice if they didn't die?

It’s one of those nights. The kind of night when sleep won’t come despite the calmness of your heartbeat or the stillness of the evening. Grantaire’s room is dark, the light from the street effectively blocked out by the blackout curtains that he had invested a small fortune on. He loves nothing more than to sleep in complete darkness. But sleep isn’t coming, so what’s the point of laying here?

 

Grantaire sighs and rolls out of bed. 2:48am. Whatever, he has work at 5:30 anyways. Might as well get something done before then. He stumbles into his kitchen, resolved to make a pot of coffee and sit at his easel until his phone’s alarm goes off. But something makes him stop in his hallway before his turns the light on. There’s a warm light coming in from his balcony window. The streetlights are white and oppressive. But this one is yellow and inviting. He goes out onto his balcony, quietly, making sure that his door doesn’t squeal when it opens. When he pops his head out, his breath is knocked out of his chest.

 

Leaning against the railing of the next balcony over, is an Antonius with high cheekbones seemingly carved from marble. Beautiful, bathed in the light from his apartment, his golden hair a halo of his angelicy. His hands cradle a mug of steaming coffee, long fingers curling and uncurling gently. His eyes are fixed on a far nothing, but he’s glaring at it as though that nothing has personally offended him.

 

“You’ll pull a muscle if you look that hard.” The words out before Grantaire can stop them. But he can’t be bothered to regret it, because the beautiful Adonis turns those beautiful blue eyes on him with a surprised and quizzical look.

 

He tilts his head to the side, mouths something to himself, and then smiles a bit. “‘Pull a muscle’?” Dear gods above, that voice. “Interesting. Have you ever pulled a muscle in your eye? I’m under the impression that the hardest working muscle has the ability to withstand much more than just staring into the distance.”

 

“Your accent…” French, obviously. But it still makes Grantaire shiver. “I mean, it’s the hardest working?”

 

The man laughs. A small huff as though he isn’t used to it. Though his eyes twinkle and he turns his body so that he can lean on the railing closest to Grantaire’s balcony. And this enraptured artist can’t stop himself to mirror the position. “Of course it is. How often do you not use your eyes? And yet even when you sleep, they move.”

 

“So does my heart.”

 

The man nods. “As does your heart.”

 

There’s a silence that falls upon them then, and Grantaire takes this moment to really admire this man’s facial features and the small amounts of emotion that flicker across his face. And then he remembers.

 

“Hey, Apollo, when did you move in here? I feel like I should have noticed you earlier.” The apartment had been vacant for a few months now, which explains how he had missed meeting this god-like creature in front of him.

 

“Earlier this week…” A pause. “What did you call me?”

 

Grantaire furrows his brows, confused. “Nothing?” Another silence. This one vaguely awkward. “What are doing in Chicago?”

 

“I just received work at one of the local universities. I won’t bother you with the details.” But his eyes are alight with something that stirs something even within Grantaire. The stranger half heartedly glances down at his watch and sighs. “I suppose I should try to get some sleep. My first day of work begins at 7. It was nice to meet you.” He reaches forward to grasp Grantaire’s forearm in farewell. And then he ducks inside with a small smile.

 

The brief contact shot through Grantaire like a brand through his heart. His Apollo’s hand had been so warm. Probably from the coffee mug--Chicago Octobers aren’t exactly warm at 2 in the morning. He isn’t sure how long he stays out there. Long after the lights had gone off in his new neighbor’s apartment. And even longer still when the warmth fades from his hands.

 

He decides to go back inside at this time and actually make coffee this time. So he does, but instead of painting, he stares blankly at this wall, wondering about life and the Apollo next door.

 

Eventually, his phone beeps incessantly at him and he sighs and turns it off. Grantaire dumps the rest of his coffee and gets ready for the day.

 

Musain, a cafe owned by one Jean Valjean, is about a mile from Grantaire’s apartment building and the walk is nice. Best thing about Chicago is how flat it is. Second best thing about Chicago: the assholes who live there. And even at five o’clock in the morning on a Monday, there are still throngs of people sifting through the streets for a early day at work or heading home from a late night. Each person's story is worn on their expressions as they move disjointedly towards their destinations.

 

Grantaire lights a cigarette the instant he gets 10 blocks away from the cafe and knows he won't finish it by the time he arrives. He's trying to kick the habit, give him a break. He arrives and gets shop ready. And at 6, he unlocks the doors.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The morning is generally pretty quiet. And right at 6:42am, the door opens with a nice spring gust and Grantaire glances up from the pastries. No shit.

 

“Apollo.” The blonde hair god raises his eyes to look at Grantaire and shakes his curls from his face.

 

“You called me that earlier. And yet, you denied it.” He leans against the counter, a little too close to be considered normal. But then again, Grantaire knows shit about Parisian manners.

 

“Yeah, well. There's a resemblance, and I don't know your name, neighbor.” He stresses the word.

 

“Enjolras.” The man, Enjolras, extends his hand for Grantaire to take, which of course he does. “And your name?”

 

“Grantaire.”

 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras echoes and Grantaire can't help the smile that spreads across his face. He pronounces his name so nicely. Of course he would because he's French and speaks French and can hear French being used because French is an easy language to differentiate from other non-French languages. And Grantaire is mentally word vomiting. And they're been holding hands for too long, so Grantaire lets go, semi-awkwardly.

 

“Nice to officially meet you, Apollo. What can I get for you?”

 

Enjolras opens his mouth for a moment, a rebuttal clear on his face, his eyes ablaze with resentment, and he leans closer to Grantaire over the counter, his hands flat on the wooden surface. Then he closes his mouth and leans back again. “12 ounce cinnamon vanilla latte.” A pause. “S’il vous-plait.”

 

Enjolras smells good. He smells really good. Not of cologne, but of something less artificial and more homely. Grantaire snaps himself from his reverie and blinks. A sweet drink. A super sweet drink. Not what he would expect from a man who has fire in his eyes and determination lining his features. But he nevertheless punches the order into the system. “$4.02, please.”

 

The intense moment is lost and Grantaire’s head feels light. But he sets about making the drink, his eyes always keeping a bit steady on Enjolras. He finishes it up fairly quickly and passes it over. Enjolras takes a sip before even thinking of putting a lid on it, and he smiles behind the cup. “This is very good, Grantaire.”

 

“Thank you.” Grantaire mock bows, feeling safer behind bravado. And seeing Enjolras smile like that, shy and fairly resigned, sets a small fire in the dark recesses of Grantaire’s heart. He clears his throat for something to do and glances at the time. 6:50am. “Don't you start work in ten minutes?”

 

“I work just across the street.” Enjolras points out the window and in the growing light, Grantaire can just make out the buildings of University of Chicago.

 

“Oh. You’re a professor. I guess I'll get to see you a lot then?”

 

Enjolras gives him a small smile. “Perhaps.” Finally, Enjolras stops leaning against the counter and rights the bag on his shoulder. “I’m sure I might get lost in a new building, so I should go now. Thank you for the latte, R.”

 

And then he leaves Grantaire in stunned silence. Thankfully, the cafe had remained blissfully silent during their interlude. As it remains to be. And it gives him a moment to think. R. Well, his name is a pun and a French pun at that. Leave it to a Frenchman to dissect that pretty quickly. Grantaire goes back into the kitchen to finish stocking the day’s pastries and sandwiches. When he comes back out, a small queue has gathered and he collects himself, ready for the day.


	2. Haaaaave you met Eponine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I noticed I rated this E, and there's none of that nonsense in the first chapter (or second chapter), but there will be soon. If you're into that kind of thing (ya sicko). But I thought if I posted this now, I'd feel a little less guilty about not giving your sexy times. I promise that porn will happen. Just not quite yet...

It’s weird and he knows it. But Grantaire likes to sit at Musain on his days off and draw or read or work on something. He knows that there are closer coffee shops to his house. Better coffee shops closer to his house. But none of them will give him unlimited free coffee and pastries while he sits and draws and basically just ignores the world. And that’s the really amazing thing about Jean Valjean. He’s so incredibly generous. Yes, two shots of espresso are $2.50 and to turn that into a latte is $3.51. And for Grantaire to add flavors and preferred milks, the list goes on and on and on. And for him to get as many of those as he wants for the entire day even off shift, is amazing. He loves his job. But really, it’s his boss.

 

He’s been sitting at one of the back tables for about four hours when someone plops down at his table. For a moment, he’s expecting it to be Eponine. But knows for a fact that it’s her day off, and she does her best to stay out of a half mile radius to avoid day-off-work-stress. So when he looks up, he’s only mildly surprised to see Enjolras. It is Thursday at lunch time after all.

 

“Oh. Your art is nice.” Enjolras remarks. But the words feel weird in his mouth, so he tries again. “It looks good?”

 

Grantaire laugh and it shakes his shoulders. “You don’t sound so sure of yourself.” And there’s a part of Grantaire that thinks Enjolras really doesn’t like his art and he’s just trying to sound polite. And yet, there’s a part of him that believes that Enjolras doesn’t do anything half-assed just to be polite.

 

“I don’t know how to compliment art. I can tell that it’s good, but I can’t understand why there’s a certain kind of composition or why things are the way things are. I just find them aesthetically pleasing.” He glances around the small cafe and takes in the paintings on the wall. “Like these paintings on the wall, I like. But I don’t understand them.”

 

Grantaire blushes slightly when Enjolras starts talking about the paintings. But he manages well enough to form his sentences. “Leave the arting to the artists, and we’ll let people like you tell us it’s pretty.” He smirks and leans forward. “I have a question for you, Apollo.” Enjolras wraps his fingers around his presumably sweet coffee and leans forward as well. “What do you do at the university?”

 

“I teach. I thought that was obvious.” Grantaire resists the urge to roll his eyes, and his Apollo notices. “But you want to know what I teach. Environmental Sciences.”

“Oh? Is global warming a thing?” Grantaire had figured that this was an innocent enough question and thought it would pull a smile onto those beautiful lips of the man before him. What he wasn’t expecting was a rebuttal and a huge argument against why some people were just so goddamn bigoted to not realise that the world is going to hell.

 

“Of course global warming is a thing! There are idiots who look at their city on a freezing January day and say that global warming isn’t happening because it doesn’t feel like it’s happening. There are people, like your president elect,” And Grantaire wants to fight that, but doesn’t yet. “who think that global warming is hoax made up by the Chinese. But it’s very real and our ice caps are melting and if we don’t do anything about it, then millions of innocent animals and people will die. People just want to shove their heads into the dirt and pretend like the world is going to be perfect the next day and the next day and everyday after that. And when the world turns to shit, they’ll wonder ‘pour quoi’? But I believe that people, once given a cause, will rally together towards a common goal.”

 

Grantaire, for just an insane moment, wants to lean forward and slam their lips together, because god, that face and that voice. And shit, it’s like he can just pull a speech straight out of his ass and still make it sound good and have it make sense. But instead he swallows thickly and smirks. “But that means you think that people are inherently good. And that’s just false. Most people have discovered by a certain point in their lives that everyone is out for themselves and fuck everyone else who can’t make it on their own. Also, people who don’t think that global warming is a thing are the same kinds of people with a good amount of privilege in their lives. Like, they can afford more air conditioning and heating and if these changing weather conditions are affecting other people, then they think they can’t do anything about because it isn’t their place.”

 

“That’s a pretty cynical way of looking at life. Do you not care about people?” Enjolras looks perplexed and that frown twists something ugly in Grantaire’s chest.

 

“The world got a glimpse of me, deemed me unworthy, and it reared its ugly head. And since then, I decided to make it a point to always put myself first.” He had been young, but it had been enough for him to know that the world would never look out for him, so why would he ever look out for the world? “But there are a few people who either haven’t realised it yet, or they have, and they just decided to keep pushing forward anyways. Which one are you?” He takes a sip of his coffee to hydrate his parched mouth.

 

Enjolras looks ready to set the world aflame, if just his eyes are anything to go by. “The world can be changed. People can change. I know for a fact that there are a large number of people who are willing to sacrifice what they can to save the world. They’re just scared and misguided. Which one are you?”

 

“I’ll tell you what.” The words are tumbling for Grantaire’s mouth as though he can’t stop them. “I believe in you. And if there’s anyone who can change the world, it’s someone as passionate as you are.” And maybe just maybe, Grantaire is falling in love just a little bit. And maybe just maybe, he’ll allow himself this small impending disappointment.

 

“I hope I can change your mind about people.” Enjolras seems to be satisfied with Grantaire’s answer and he glances at his watch. “Merde! I have class starting in five minutes. I will see you later, R.”

 

And like on the balcony, he grips Grantaire’s forearm in farewell. And this time, Grantaire is absolutely useless to stop the onslaught of feelings that arise in his body. “I hope so.” And then the hand disappears and Enjolras is out the door.

 

Grantaire lets his head fall into his hands almost immediately and he takes a shaky breath. This man will be the death of him. It takes a few moments of deep breathing, but eventually, he looks back up again and glances around the small shop. His place of work. And now, what seems like Enjolras’ regular coffee shop.

 

The same art has been on the charcoal walls for about two weeks now, which means it’s time to switch out pieces. He has some in his studio that he can bring in. But now he’s feeling to most uncontrollable urge to paint something new. Something different. Something...fuck, he can’t think of it now, but he has to go.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Two hours later finds Grantaire in his apartment, shirtless and covered in paint. Music is playing in the background and he sings along. He was feeling folk music this particular moment, but it was still turned up pretty loud. Thank goodness for thick walls, otherwise, there would have been so many more complaints. And it doesn’t hurt that his apartment is on the corner of the building.

 

But he does hear a light knocking on his apartment door. And for small crazy moment, he hopes it's Enjolras, his beautiful, intelligent, and idealistic neighbor.

 

But he opens the door and Eponine steps in, a bottle of rum in her hand. His eyes widen slightly and he opens his mouth, but she stops him with a wave of her hand. “This isn't for you. It's for me. And you are my new pillow.”

 

Grantaire takes a long look at her and realises she looks like shit. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are flushed and covered in dried tears. “Shit, Ep. What happened?”

 

She stumbles to the couch and presses her face into her hands. It takes her a while to speak, but eventually she lifts her head and lets out a bitter laugh. “Marius is in love!” She grabs opens the bottle and takes a long swig. “I know you're going sober. But I didn't know who else to turn to. But I need a drink and a million hugs.”

 

“Hey, Ep. Don't worry about it. It's fine. You matter the most right now. Whatever you need and you'll have it. I want you to talk to me.”

 

“Thanks…” She melts into the sofa and cries freely, intermittently taking a swig of rum. “She's perfect too. Beautiful, sweet, smart. She's French! She just moved here and already she's got suitors. I can't even be mad at her, but she's so goddamn nice!” She pauses to keep drinking. “She works for the Consulate General of France! Helping people adjust to American society. What the fuck? That's so fucking nice.”

 

Grantaire doesn't know what to do for a moment other than let her cry. “I hope you aren't comparing yourself to her. You've got so much to offer. Even if you aren't French.” She scoffs, but it comes out just a little amused. “Hey. Chinese food? I'll order it. And we'll watch Harry Potter and get you back to being Eponine.”

 

Instead of answering, Eponine curls into Grantaire’s lap and presses her face into his lap. He feels tears seep through his jeans and he strokes her hair as she sobs gently. He pulls his phone from his pocket and calls for food. Then gets the movie up and running on his television. How great technology is if he didn't even move to do any of this.

 

They start on The Prisoner of Azkaban and halfway through the movie, Eponine finally looks up and starts watching. Around that time, the Chinese food arrives and Grantaire reluctantly pulls away from Eponine to get the door. When he comes back, she has put the bottle away and is curled underneath a blanket. She makes grabby hands at him for food and he hands her her own container of fried rice.

 

After that, it almost feels like a normal evening. Mainly because of her comments. Every time Snape makes an appearance on screen, she leans over and whispers, “Look, it's the devil.”

 

By the middle of The Order of the Phoenix, she's laughing. If not a little unsteadily. “Can I crash on your couch?” It's barely 10 o'clock, but Grantaire can't blame her for being tired.

 

“No. You should take my bed. It needs to be used by someone who'll appreciate it.”

 

She nods and stumbles to his bedroom and shuts the door. Grantaire stares at the rum. It's only been a couple of months since he decided to go sober. And it takes so much willpower to take the bottle and pour the contents down his kitchen sink. He'll give Eponine money for it later. But he'd can't have alcohol anywhere near him, or he'll cave.

 

Besides, rum is gross anyways. Wine is where it's at.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Eponine wakes up with a blinding headache and a deep appreciation for Grantaire’s blackout curtains. On the bedside table is a cup of water, two tiny pills, a key, and a note that tells her that Grantaire is at work.

 

But she's kind of hungry and she knows for a fact that Grantaire eats like a monster… so she goes into the kitchen and rummage through the refrigerator. “Ooh sweet sweet pastries! Oh, thank you, Jean Valjean.”

 

The Musain has sandwiches and pastries and breads. And Grantaire, who closes fairly often, can't bring it in his heart to throw them away. So his refrigerator, pantry, and cupboards are stocked full of homemade foods.

 

And he won't notice that he's missing a few.

 

Eponine grabs a sandwich, a few croissants, a tart, throws them into a shopping bag, and makes to leave. Once in the hallway, she turns around suddenly angry. “That asshole tossed out my alcohol!”

 

“It seems like you might want to get some more.” Enjolras has stepped into the hall from the stairwell, his key in hand and his eyes scrutinising her.

 

“Yeah? What's it to you?” She crosses her arms defiantly and leans against the door jam.

 

Enjolras opens the door to his apartment and shrugs. “Perhaps you would like a cup of coffee, mademoiselle.”

 

Eponine shrugs back. It's not like she would ever say no to a cup of coffee. And if this guy turns out to be a serial killer, at least he picked a low part of her life. “Only if it's french press.”

 

“Is there any other kind?” Enjolras smiles kindly and lets her in.

 

His apartment is pretty much the same layout as Grantaire’s, except his is much much cleaner. And it looks as though he picked everything out of a Crate and Barrel catalogue. He goes into the kitchen while Eponine plops a seat at one of his barstools. So fancy to have barstools at the breakfast nook.

 

“You must be good friends with Grantaire?” Enjolras makes idle chat as he grinds the coffee beans.

 

“Yeah, probably my best friend.” She feels weird in the sterile environment that she's sitting in compared to the mess of art supplies that dons R’s apartment. “You've met him?”

 

“He works across the street from my job. And we are neighbors. I fear one day, he may be sick of looking at me.”

 

Eponine shrugs. “I've never known him to get sick of people. Or to turn them away.”

 

Enjolras pours boiling water from a sink spout into the French press and sets the whole thing in front of Eponine with a mug. Like Grantaire, she notes, none of Enjolras’ mugs actually match and actually that's kind of refreshing.

 

“He sounds like a kind man.”

 

Eponine scoffs. “You have no idea.” She presses down on the coffee when it's dark enough and takes a moment to look at Enjolras. He's quite pretty with his curly blonde hair and pink lips. “You should ask him to make dinner for you. He's quite the skilled chef.”

 

And much to her surprise, Enjolras blushes. And not just a small blush across his cheeks, no, it spreads to his ears and down his chest below his sweater neckline. “You think he'd say yes?”

 

“Oh, my god.” He love life might be a mess, but at least she can help someone with theirs. “You know what...why don't you just find out.” She downs her coffee, loving the burn, picks up all of her food, leaving a chocolate croissant. “He'd never say no.” With a wink, she walks out of Enjolras’ apartment.


	3. Pining and Dining?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just really needed to post this so that the rating made more sense. Introducing...Bahorel!! What a sweetie he is in the books. But what a sarcastic butthole he is too. I love him.

Each sketch. Each stroke. Not a single one was worthy of Enjolras’ image. For weeks now, Grantaire has been catching glimpses and small snippets of conversation of this beautiful god. Those nerve wracking touches or his forearm. It was driving him mad. And each time, he tries to capture the moment on a canvas or in one of his many sketchbooks. And before he even realised he was doing it, every page had become filled with images of Enjolras’ face. Grantaire had bought a bottle of wine in an insane moment of emotional influx. Eponine had come over that night and flung the bottle into the alley and stood yelling at him on the balcony (it probably could have killed someone, but Eponine hasn’t been known to show that much compassion for strangers).

 

Thank god Enjolras hadn't been home. Or if he had been, he was polite enough to never mention it. There are so many more ways he can be a disappointment, but his alcoholism isn’t something that he wants to bring up with him. And besides, he’s pretty good about going to his bi-weekly AA meeting, and talking to his sponsor whenever he feels a moment of loss. And if he ever feels like relapsing, he goes to the boxing gym.

 

In this particular moment of frustration, Grantaire throws down his sketchbook and charcoal and grabs his duffel bag for the gym. He sends his sponsor a text to meet him there. Bahorel is a particularly interesting human being. Gruff around the edges and always ready for a fight. And arguing with him is like arguing with your drunk uncle, but without the alcohol of course. Because sobriety.

 

It’s a fairly short walk and Bahorel is already there, leaning against the brick building and tying up his hands. “So, boxing today. With me? Or a a bag?”

 

“I just need to hit something.” They get inside and Grantaire wraps his hands. “Hey, man. Thanks for meeting me here.”

 

Bahorel just shrugs as they head to a punching bag. “You need me. I show up. That’s how this works. Besides, I was thinking of coming by here tonight anyways. No time like the present.” He gets behind the bag and braces it with his body. “Tell me why you’re feeling down.”

 

Grantaire takes a breath and throws a couple of test punches. “There’s this guy who just moved in next door a few weeks ago. And, normally, getting new neighbours is great. But this guy...shit, man. He’s fucking gorgeous. A real goddamn Apollo. Smart, too. And normally, I’m fine with just pining away, but he just…” He throws a particularly hard punch and he notices how Bahorel’s eyebrows furrow in discomfort. And his punches become less hard, but more frequent. “Touches me. Not like...in a sexual way at all. But he grabs my forearm every fucking time he says goodbye. And it’s driving me insane. And, yeah. Maybe I’d think that’s just friendly, but he leans towards me...Am I...crazy?”

 

“Definitely. But I can’t say that because I’m your sponsor.” Bahorel smirks at him. “Is this guy enough to make you feel like you should have a drink?”

 

“Not at all. Alcohol feels inadequate to him. He’s like the sun. And I’m a lowly blade of grass basking in his glory.”

 

Bahorel whistles, eyebrows raised. “You know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you’re in love, R. It sounds like you’re borderline obsessive with this guy and you need to do something to get him out of your system.”

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Why do you think I’m here? Were I not sober, you’d probably be able to find me in the back alley of a bar. In a stupor. Going on and on about a god with beautiful blue eyes.”

 

“Well, you are sober. And we’re gonna keep you this way. Switch with me.”

 

It takes a lot of willpower, but Grantaire does not flinch in fear. Bahorel’s punches are hard and he can feel them through the entire punching bag. But he obediently takes up stance behind the bag and basically hugs it for dear life.

 

“I swear he’s flirting with me though…” Grantaire mumbles, and he’s pretty sure Bahorel doesn’t hear him.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Guess he was wrong. “Look, if you wanna bang this guy, break into his apartment, strip off all of your clothes, and get in his bed.” He throws his first punch and it hurts.

 

Thankfully, Grantaire can hid his pain with surprise and disgust. “I’m not doing that. I’m not...aren’t you supposed to help me be law abiding?”

 

“Meh.” Bahorel’s punches are coming in a nice rhythm now and Grantaire adjusts well. “I’m helping you to remain sober. Whatever that takes. Law abiding unnecessary.”

 

“I feel like that’s wrong. Anyways, I don’t just want to bang him. I want to cuddle and watch stupid cartoons and hold hands and do dumb gross shit.” Grantaire all but confesses. And he’s starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, he’s pretty deeply in love. Eponine is going to love this. Or hate it. Depending on her mood.

 

Bahorel stops for a moment and looks at him closely. “You should...ask him on a date. Nothing fancy. You don’t have to even call it a date if you don’t want to. But invite out for a walk or coffee or...fuck if I know what you kids do these days.”

 

“You aren’t that old.” Grantaire says, but he’s pretty absent minded right now. Maybe a date will be nice.

 

“Glad you think so.” Bahorel deadpans. “Keep holding the bag.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Grantaire goes home and showers after boxing for a couple house. And what a nice shower it is. Midday is the best time to shower because no one uses hot water this time of day. So he takes his time, scrubbing his scalp lethargically. And he thinks of Enjolras and what his hands would feel like in his hair. He’s such a passionate man about even the smallest things, so probably an equally passionate lover. Or...maybe he likes sex slow, just a gentle rubbing of cocks.

 

Speaking of cocks…

 

Grantaire looks down and sighs. It’s been awhile since he’s done anything even remotely sexual with himself, so why not now. He soaps up his hands and sets about cleaning his body, letting his hands trail gently down to his throbbing erection. When he takes himself in hand, a small jolt runs down his spine. He sighs and lets himself thrust into his hand. He wants to drag this out, but not enough to raise the water bill that high.

 

So he gives himself a small twist of his hand at the tip of his cock and pulls kinda hard. A sharp gasp comes from his throat and god, he wants more. He thinks of what Enjolras would look like as he thrust into him, what his voice would sound like when he moans in ecstasy. And he cums hard. He leans back against the cold tiles of his shower, letting the water wash his cum down the drain. He’s going to paint, he decides.

 

\--- --- ---

 

And here Grantaire is now, clad only in boxer briefs and random streaks of red and gold paint and singing loudly to Fleet Foxes. A knock on his door. He ignores it, probably Eponine. If she really wants in, she’ll climb the fire escape. A moment passes. Another knock.

 

With a groan, he goes to answer the door, pausing only to pull on a pair of pants. Enjolras is standing in the hallway, beautiful like a Trojan warrior. But…his eyes are wandering across Grantaire’s state of undress. And...

 

Is that a blush?

 

“Make me dinner?” Enjolras blinks as though he hasn't meant to say that, mouths something in French, and tries again. “Will you make me dinner?”

 

Grantaire wants to laugh. Scream? Cry? Something. But the only thing he can do is stare at Enjolras in shock. Enjolras shuffles carefully on his feet.

 

“Your woman friend told me that you would make dinner for someone if they asked. And I can't cook and it's embarrassing. But it's been so long since I've had a homemade meal. The woman said that you were quite good at making meals.”

 

“Way to woo a guy, Apollo.” Grantaire runs a hand through his hair but opens his door wider and steps to the side. “I guess it's been a while since I've fed myself. Any dietary restrictions?” He gets the urge to call Eponine over just to throw her over the balcony.

 

“No.” Enjolras steps into Grantaire’s apartment and instantly makes himself at home, toeing his shoes off at the door and immediately going to touch everything in the other man's apartment. “I'm just happy for the food.”

 

Grantaire tries really hard to not show any emotions about having Enjolras in his home. At least...and anything that would hop the line of hospitality into creepiness. So he looks through his refrigerator and decides on searing a couple of steaks. They'd been sitting there for a couple of days now, so he might as well make them. Oh, and green beans sautéed with garlic and butter.

 

One thing he's really learning about Enjolras though, is his propensity to touch things. Like the sketchbooks on the coffee table. He doesn't open any of them, just runs his fingers along the covers. And for some crazy reason, that feels like even more of a violation of privacy than just opening them.

 

“Should I help you at all?”

 

“I thought you wanted _me_ to make _you_ dinner?” Grantaire says teasingly and waggles his eyebrows at Enjolras from the kitchen. He's already started seasoning and his large cast iron pan is on high heat. The green beans will only take a moment. He gets invested in cooking, cutting the tips off of the beans, and doesn't even notice how close Enjolras gets to him. He turns, holding the putting board carrying the steak with the intention of throwing them onto the pan, but there's the Roman god just a few inches away. And Grantaire can make out every god damn freckle across his nose and on his cheeks. And that urge to grab his by the shirt and kiss him hits him fully. Except he's holding steak and it was really expensive and dropping $30 worth of meat when he's really hungry and shirtless seems like a pretty bad idea.

 

“You get a very nice look on your face when you cook. Like you don't care but anything else.” His voice is so soft and Grantaire can feel the ghost of his breath against his lips. And he'll always blame that for what he says next.

 

“I care about you.” And...he wants to fling himself into the sun. But that's physically impossible, so he does the next best thing. He turns away from his beautiful Apollo and throws the steaks into the smoking pan. Four minutes both sides. Eight minutes is enough for the beans. But he can't think about beans because his heart is thumping hard in his chest and his face and chest are aflame and he can't take it. He just wants to look at Enjolras for the rest of his life.

 

“I also care for you.” Even though he had tried to put space between them Enjolras kept that distance to a minimum, his chest almost pressed against Grantaire’s back. And god, they're so close and it feels so right but so suffocating. And there’s the gentlest feeling of cloth against his bare skin when Enjolras moves just a little bit. What it would feel like to have this man press his whole body against him...

 

“Thank you.” His voice is little more than a whisper and he's sure his hands are shaking, so he grips the handle to the oven. Enjolras’ hands gently stroke down Grantaire’s arms until he's loosely holding his elbows. They’re touching, gently flush against each other.

 

“Don't burn our dinner, Grantaire.” It feels like Enjolras is right there in his ear. But it lasts only a moment and he slips away. Presumably to let Grantaire die in a puddle now.

 

For lack of anything better to do, since he can't turn around and look, Grantaire flips the steaks. Even though it's way too early. And he tosses the green beans into another pan. It takes everything in his power to not turn around and beg for Enjolras to come back to him. His cock is throbbing in his jeans and he tries to think of something, literally anything else that could stave his erection.

 

Enjolras is out of the room and probably touching more things all over his apartment, and Grantaire can’t think about those hands now because they had just been on his skin. And he can’t think about what they would feel like on other parts of his body. So while everything is cooking, he books it into his bedroom and pulls on a shirt. And then decides to also put on a sweater for safe measure. When he comes back, the food is pretty much done.

 

“Dinner’s ready!” Grantaire calls from the kitchen. As Enjolras is coming back inside from the balcony, Grantaire is setting the two plates down on the counter nearest the sofa. “I don’t have a proper dining table, so I was thinking we could turn on a movie and eat dinner in the living room?” He’s cautiously avoiding making eye contact with Enjolras, and they both know it.

 

“I’m quite fond of nature documentaries and mid-century satires.” It’s a serious answer. But Grantaire breaks out laughing as though this is the funniest thing that anyone has ever said to him.

 

And that twinkle in his eyes ends their awkwardness. “You would.” They sit down next to each other and Grantaire gets to setting up Netflix. Enjolras probably thinks he’s being sneaky when he scoots closer to Grantaire. Or...maybe that’s just a European thing. People might just sit really close to each other in Europe. Fuck if he knows. You know what? A documentary about whales sounds nice. And he settles into the sofa and takes a breath.

 

Enjolras moans next to him and Grantaire is sure that his heart just stopped. That noise. If he thought his erection was gone before, he’s definitely being reminded right now that it still exists and that it is very hard.

 

“ _Tres bien_ , Grantaire. This is very good.”

 

But Grantaire can’t focus on the words, just replay the sound that Enjolras made over and over and over again in his head. He shoves green beans into his mouth. And they’re still hot, but he doesn’t care. He makes a noncommittal noise that he hopes doesn’t sound like he’s being strangled and shoves more food in his mouth.

 

They watch the documentary in relative silence. Until Enjolras speaks up. “Do you dislike me, R?”

 

Grantaire whips his head to the side as though he heard wrong. “Do I...what? God no. How the hell could you think that? Do I dislike you?” He says the last words in a mocking tone as though nothing has ever insulted him more.

 

“You call me Apollo, even though I've said I didn't like it. Usually that's a sign of disrespect.” Grantaire is so not ready to have this conversation right now. Or probably ever.

 

“Fuck man. I call you Apollo because you're fucking beautiful. I mean have you seen yourself? You're the living reincarnation of the Sun god himself.” And Grantaire regrets his entire life.

 

But Enjolras is staring at him carefully as though everything he's said is a lie. “But you never make an effort to see me.”

 

 _Because you’ll get sick of me. Because I’m not worth your time. Because you’re perfect and I’m basically a sea urchin_. “If I really didn't like you, you wouldn't be on this sofa with me. Eat your dinner.” And he hopes that's the end of that conversation. But of course it isn't because Enjolras is passionate about everything and wants to have intense conversations even when Grantaire doesn't want to. 

 

But he knows he'll have a couple of days until Enjolras brings it up again.

 

When they finish dinner and the documentary, Grantaire walks Enjolras to his apartment door. “It was nice having you over. Maybe we can do this again.” But without the copious amounts of sexual tension, he doesn't add.

 

“I would like that.” Enjolras shuffles on his feet for a moment and looks at Grantaire expectantly. And what the hell could he be waiting for. So when it becomes obvious that isn't going to do anything, Enjolras huffs out a breath and presses a small kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “ _Bonne nuit_ , R.”

 

And Grantaire is sure that he’s died and gone to heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Briefly mentioned masturbation. My first time writing sexy things...boop.


	4. Date? I Don't Know the Meaning of the Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Grantaire is confused and doesn't have any fucks left to give. And Enjolras is the least suave person on the planet. What a perfect pair they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look everybody! Another chapter! Could there be romance a-brewin' in the air? And what's this? Eponine? And Cosette? Whaaaa????

The next few days finds Grantaire at work obsessively. He's picked up extra shifts, some even during the same day, just to avoid being home. But he lives next door to and works across the street from the object of his avoidance. 

 

Not that he's necessarily avoiding Enjolras. But he certainly doesn't want to see him right now. He's still convinced that kiss had been a dream and that there's no way in hell he'd get a kiss like that. Or maybe it's a French thing to kiss people's cheeks after they give you dinner. That's more or less what Grantaire has brought it down to.

 

One particular Wednesday afternoon, a beautiful blonde woman comes in. “Hello, is Eponine working today?” French accent, and quite nice to listen to.

 

“Yeah, she's in the back. I'll go get her.” Grantaire finds Eponine restocking lids and cups in the backroom, with pens shoved into her messy bun. “There's a pretty blonde girl looking for you.”

 

Eponine’s eyes widen and she looks down at herself. Black high waisted skinny jeans and an oversized sweater. Pretty normal, but she doesn't seem to think she looks nice enough. She pulls the pens out of her hair and then pulls her hair down, gently running her fingers through it to sort it out. Grantaire thinks she looks fine before and after. But who knows what's going through her mind. Eponine goes out front and leans across the counter towards the girl with a nice smile.

 

“Hey, Cosette. How's it going?”

 

“Quite well. I’ve just been thinking about you and thought I’d stop by to say hello.” Cosette reaches her hand out and gently curls her fingers around Eponine’s. And to Grantaire’s surprise, the dark haired woman doesn’t retreat at all. “You look quite nice today.”

 

“Thank you.” Eponine ducks her head and smirks a bit. “So...I’m taking a lunch soon? Do you wanna--”

 

“I’d love to.” Cosette answers before Eponine even manages to finish her question.

 

Eponine grins fully and turns back to Grantaire. “I’m gonna go on my lunch.” And Grantaire can’t even want to point out that she’s only been at work for two hours. But, who is he to interfere? He waves her away and she practically runs out the door with Cosette, their hands intertwined.

 

Just a couple of weeks ago, he had been so sure that she hadn’t liked Cosette. And now they’re...dating? Courting each other. Something cute. And for some reason, that kind of gives Grantaire the sick feeling of empty hope. Maybe that kiss on the cheek was supposed to mean something more. And he knows that if he keeps letting his thoughts move on like this, he’s going to disappoint himself.

 

So he keeps himself busy, making coffees and heating up pastries for customers. But he can’t stop thinking about how happy Eponine looked when she left with Cosette. Love really does work in mysterious ways. And after seeing her so broken up about Marius, it’s a nice change to see her smiling and happy. And what about Marius anyways? How does he feel about the love of his life going out on dates with the woman who had loved him so deeply? Although, he’s pretty sure that Marius never even looked at Eponine enough to realise that she would look at him with so much longing.

 

Grantaire keeps pulling shots of espresso and steaming milk and throwing syrups into cups and serving them. And every so often, he’ll push up the sleeves to his sweater so he doesn’t get milk all over it. Which is funny, because all of his clothes are already covered in paint.

 

“Twelve ounce iced cinnamon vanilla latte, please.”

 

That fucking drink.

 

“Iced? In November?” Grantaire turns towards Enjolras and crosses his arms. “What if I make it for you without the ice?”

 

“I think I ordered a drink with ice…” Enjolras says and leans against the counter on his forearms. “But do what you wish.”

 

Grantaire wants to rip his hair out. The man of his affections is standing right in front of him with lewd body language and it’s killing him. It’s literally killing him. And all he wants to do right now is take a drink, but he can’t do that. And he’s edgy, so he says what’s on his mind while making this sweet as fuck latte.

 

“Are you trying to kill me? Or court me?” Any other day, he would feel regret for saying that. But right now he can't bring himself to feel anything more than relief. Probably because he hasn’t slept properly in days and he’s been living off of caffeine. “Because I would really like it if you're trying to court me.” He all but slams the iced drink down in front of Enjolras and huffs out a breath. “I've been trying to figure you out and I've got nothin’, so help me.”

 

“Go date me.” This time Enjolras doesn't mouth anything in french to make sure he's said it right. In fact, the usually eloquent Enjolras is struggling with getting his words out. “Having a meal with you was supposed to be a date the other night, but I wasn’t sure if I had made that clear. Now, I’m realising that I definitely did not.”

 

Grantaire stares at him, mouth slightly agape. “No.” That is the exact opposite of what he wants to say. And seeing Enjolras’ face fall makes his heart twist in a way he didn’t think possible. So he rectifies himself. “You didn’t make it obvious…”

 

“Is that...a yes…?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so. But you gotta woo me, Apollo. I like being wooed.”

 

Enjolras furrows his eyebrows. “You’ve used this word before. What does it mean?”

 

“Court me and make me feel special.” _You adorable mess_ , he doesn’t add. Grantaire leans across the counter as well, just to have them be close together. “I’m off work at 6 tonight. Or I’m off work tomorrow. Take your pick.”

 

“I’ll be back tonight.” Enjolras says, maybe a little too quickly, but Grantaire doesn’t mind at all. “If I’m late, please don’t worry, it’s because my office hours went over. But I’ll be here as soon as I can.” He picks up his iced cinnamon vanilla latte and all but flurries out the door.

 

Autumn leaves fly into the store as the door closes and a fresh burst of cold air chills the room, but it’s nice and refreshing. November, what a beautiful time to be alive.

 

\--- --- ---

 

When Eponine comes back from her lunch, her lips look decidedly more pink and her hair is just a little bit messier, but Grantaire is too busy not noticing. And every drink she made with steamed milk came out with a heart in the foam. And finally at 6, Grantaire clocked out and left a humming Eponine behind the bar.

 

And he tries really hard to not let his heart fall when Enjolras isn't in right at 6. But it doesn't take too long. At 6:04, Enjolras bursts through the doors, his red coat flowing in the wind.

 

“I have made arrangements for our evening.” He says in way of greeting.

 

Eponine’s eyes grow very wide and she wolf whistles at them. “Ohhhh! I get it now. Oh, my god. Ooohhhhhhh whooooaaaaa! This is the best day of my life. Oh, I knew it, I knew it! He’s too hot for you to ignore!” She continues to catcall at them as they exit the shop. “He blushed when I told him you’d cook for him!” She manages to get that last part out just as the door was closing behind them.

 

And when Grantaire looks over at Enjolras to confirm, sure enough, Apollo’s entire face and neck are red. So Grantaire remains silent. Because he wants the date to go well, of course. And also, because admiring him like this is so nice.

 

“I have chosen a restaurant not too far from here. I think you might like it. Maybe.” For maybe the first time since they'd met, Enjolras seems unsure of himself. And if that isn’t the most refreshing thing in the universe.

 

“You can take me anywhere. I’m not picky at all.”

 

“But you must have some dietary restrictions…?” Enjolras leads them through Hyde Park towards Lake Michigan.

 

Grantaire shrugs. “I can find things on the menu.” Enjolras still seems unsure, so Grantaire stops walking. “Apollo.” Enjolras turns to look at him, his cheeks pink from the cold wind. “It’s gonna be fine.” And he says that even though he doesn’t for a second believe it. They have such different beliefs, they could be volatile…

 

But his Apollo is being so kind, he can’t bring himself to be actually upset for being doubted. And besides, this is their first date, and he wants it to go well.

“And to be honest, I’m just excited to go on a date with you.” The only thing he can imagine going wrong is the fact that he’s a recovering alcoholic. And if anything, Enjolras should be thrilled that he isn’t still an alcoholic. And if all goes poorly, at least he’ll have really great stories to share with Eponine. They’ll share apple cider and eat popcorn and let Grantaire cry his heart out.

“If you do not like the place I have chosen, I expect you to speak up.”

“I can speak quite well for myself.” And Enjolras seems satisfied with that answer and seems to revert back to his usual haughty self.

It’s a pretty nice walk from the café, and Grantaire finds himself humming just a little bit in their silences. And as they walk next to each other, gently bumping shoulders and hands, Enjolras gently intertwines their fingers. And god damn is his hand cold. Grantaire holds his hand just a little tighter, hoping to warm up those freezing fingers.

“You should probably invest in a pair of gloves. Chicago does not have forgiving winters.”

Enjolras looks at his free hand in shock. “Oh, it is cold, isn’t it?”

There are a million things that Grantaire wants to say, but he settles on, “Whaaaaa? You didn’t notice?!”

“My friend says that I have a tendency of neglecting myself…” Enjolras shoves his hand into his pocket in mild embarrassment. “We’re here.” And they could let go of the other’s hand now. But they won’t. Even when they sit down across from each other, except to take their jackets off, they keep their hands linked across the table. Grantaire takes this moment to warm up Enjolras’ hand in both of his, rubbing them gently.

“Tell me about your friend. Is he here in Chicago?”

“His name is Combeferre. And yes, he does live here. He and his lover, Courfeyrac, moved here with me from Paris a couple of months ago.”

Grantaire is going to have to get to know this friend of his. It seems like they both want to keep Enjolras healthy even though Enjolras doesn’t seem to want to keep Enjolras healthy.

“They moved out here because of you?”

Enjolras laughs, again that weird huff of a laugh as though he isn’t sure what a diaphragm is. “No, Combeferre got a job at Northwestern University Hospital. It worked out well for us.”

Enjolras’ hand is finally starting to feel like a normal hand of a living person and not the dead hand of a corpse. “Look at you with your smart friends.”

“And you with yours.”

“Eponine?” Enjolras tilts his head to the side. “The woman I work with.” The one who cat called at us when we left for our date.

 

Enjolras nods. “Oh, yes. I find her quite the fascinating woman. And vaguely threatening.” Vaguely threatening is a really great way to describe her, Grantaire realises.

The waitress comes by and they order drinks. Enjolras, a glass of red wine. Grantaire, a sprite. And Enjolras gives him a weird look, but he doesn’t press the issue. Apparently, he hadn’t been home that night Eponine threw a bottle of wine off his balcony. Well, that saved him that embarrassment.

“Eponine has a way with people. She isn’t shy at all. But she’s basically like my sister. My best friend. You know how that goes.” Grantaire shrugged, hoping that he didn’t sound too mushy.

Enjolras only smiles. “Of course, I do. You don’t move across the world with people you only kind of like.”

Grantaire chuckles. “Yeah, man. They must really love you.” He glances at his menu, sees the word burger and makes his decision immediately. Enjolras never looks at his menu, so he must come here fairly often.

“I am sure your friend feels alike.” He does that thing where he mouths in French and frowns. “The same.”

Grantaire has never prided himself on how tactful he is, and being completely honest, he’s sure he hasn’t met a less tactful person than himself. “When did you start learning English? Also, why Chicago? Also, your face?”

“What’s bad with my face?” Enjolras looks down beyond his glasses as though trying to look at his entire face, but he doesn’t take his hands away from Grantaire’s. But R just raises his eyebrows as though it’s obvious, so he sighs and continues. “I started learning English about two months before I got here. And Chicago seemed like a big change and I wanted something different from Paris.”

“Ooh, I never imagined Paris being the kind of place that someone would want to escape from.” Grantaire leans back in his chair and finally pulls his hands away from Enjolras (because no one likes sweaty cold hands and that’s currently what he’s sporting).

“It’s not Paris.” But he doesn’t elaborate, so Grantaire doesn’t push. “Have you always lived here?” And Grantaire does not want to talk about himself.

“Born and raised. Pretty boring life. Nothing going for me.” And that sounds like a cry for help. “But will you teach me French?”

For a moment, it looks like Enjolras wants to say something, he’s got that blazing look in his eyes, the same look he got when Grantaire called him Apollo in the coffee shop, the same look he got when he was talking about global warming, and it’s the look that haunts Grantaire’s every moment of his life. And like the first time, he presses his lips into a thin line and leans back. “I could teach you. But only if you help me with my English, ‘Aire.”

“Oh, see, that’s what I’m talking about. Is that how R is actually pronounced in French?” Enjolras nods. “I knew it, I’m gonna start going by that now. I think it’ll catch on with my two friends.” Bahorel and Eponine. “I’ll help you with English.”

The waitress comes back with their drinks and they place their orders. “You seem to sell yourself short, Dionysus.”

Grantaire whips his head up, morbidly surprised. “Have you been reading? Or did you already know?”

“I was curious about Apollo. Courfeyrac knows quite a bit about Roman and Greek mythology. So he enlightened me.” A small smirk crossed Enjolras’ face. “You call me God of the Plague.”

 

“The Sun. Let’s stick to the sun.” Grantaire blushes and downs some of his water. And thank god, that’s when their food arrives.

 

And conversation goes quite well after that. Grantaire learns that Enjolras has left his house without certain articles of clothing because he’d been in a rush. His favourite colour is red. Hes never seen any american classic movies. He has a soft spot for musicals and likes to sing along. He also learns that Enjolras does not take care of himself at all. And that he relies pretty heavily on Combeferre to take care of him. And that’s when Grantaire decides to become his new caretaker. And that feels weird because as the evening progresses, he realises exactly how much he loves Enjolras. He worships the man. He loves the way his eyes light up when he talks about his passions. He loves when he stumbles over his English and then randomly throws out a French word to supplement. It’s the small things.

 

So when they get back to their apartments and Enjolras leans forwards slightly and and presses a small kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth, Grantaire is sure that life has never been quite this amazing.


	5. Let's Get it On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire meets Enjolras' friends. Cue, Les Amis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is pretty much all sex...I've never been more embarrassed in my life. I live alone, and I kept thinking that someone was going to walk in on me. So I poured myself some green tea, ate some chocolate covered marshmallows, and wrote some pretty filthy smut. Also, please excuse my French. This is not a joke. I'm scared that I done fucked up some grammar...so if it's wrong, please let me know. Also, translations at the end.

Grantaire starts drawing. A lot. More than can possibly be considered healthy. Eponine seems to enjoy it though. She comes by and lounges with a book on R’s sofa while he sits at his easel and draws or paints or what have you. And so far, life is great. He’s got a muse for the first time in years, Eponine is in a proper relationship (which has never happened), and it’s almost Christmas. Which means all the Christmas music in the whole wide world. And Grantaire spends his time in the cafe singing to holiday music and dancing behind the counter.

 

Eponine is in similar spirits, but she refuses to dance. She does sing along with Grantaire. And god, it’s so nice to see her happy. But it gets a little invasive when she randomly appears on his fire escape at three in the morning just to talk about how pretty Cosette is in the light of a street lamp. It isn’t like Grantaire sleeps anyways, but he would at least like a warning (sometimes he paints naked).

 

He and Enjolras have settled into a routine. He comes in every morning before work and leans against the counter and teaches Grantaire a word or two in French. And at 6:55am, he presses a kiss to the artist’s cheek and hurries off to work. And some nights they bump into each other and Grantaire makes him dinner.

 

Rare nights, Grantaire can’t sleep and he goes out onto his balcony and smokes a cigarette. Every so often, Enjolras comes out to join. And always makes a snide comment about Grantaire’s smoking habits because it’s disgusting. And R knows it, but it’s his body thank you very much.

 

And they don’t talk about much, but every time they part now, instead of grasping his forearm, Enjolras now just sticks to giving him small kisses.

 

Oh, and how great this is. But it’s almost driving Grantaire crazy. Kissing is great, but it all still feels just a little platonic. And that’s fine, but he said the word ‘date’, and they don’t really go out anymore on dates. And they don’t do more than small kisses. And all Grantaire wants to do is shove Enjolras up against a wall and pull off his ridiculous sweaters and and kiss that beautiful pale skin. But he’ll move at Enjolras’ pace.

 

But that doesn’t stop him from masturbating every moment he gets to himself. In the shower, on his bed, in the kitchen, on his sofa. Everywhere. And he’s starting to think that his entire apartment smells like semen and sweat. So he starts lighting candles. And since it’s Christmas time, they all smell like pine and sugar cookies. Eponine comments on it every time she’s in. But when Grantaire tells her the reason why, all of the blood drains from her face and she stares around his apartment in horror.

 

They don’t talk about it anymore.

 

But back to masturbating. He’s envisioned pretty much everything. Grantaire doesn’t bottom, but when imagining those eyes, he would gladly let himself get taken. So he’s purchased a bottle of lube and he’s spent time in his bed with his fingers in his ass wishing that they were Enjolras’ fingers. And he ruts his cock against his sheets, smearing precum and sweat all over his blankets, but it’s worth it because he discovers his prostate and they’re the most mind blowing orgasms he’s ever experienced. And he can imagine Enjolras pressing his cock inside of him or rolling his hips teasingly along Grantaire’s entrance until he’s begging for it. And he can imagine his Apollo whispering filthy words into his ear as he punctuates each dirty thought with a hard thrust. And he comes like that, soiling his sheets (he’s learned to start laying towels down on his bed so he doesn’t have to keep doing laundry).

 

He’s thrilled that his room doesn’t share a wall with Enjolras’ apartment because he isn’t quiet when he fucks himself on his fingers. But sometimes, he fantasises about Enjolras hearing him and creeping into his apartment and seeing him wanton and spread out on his bed. He’s never wanted sex quite as much as he wants it with Enjolras.

 

It’s a Saturday night and Grantaire is getting home for the coffee shop. As he walks down his hall, he can hear laughter and music. And there are only two people who live his floor other than him, and he’s sure eighty-six-year-old Mrs. Goldberg isn’t throwing any parties.

 

Grantaire is just about to open his apartment door when a particularly lovely person bursts out of Enjolras’ apartment. They have long red hair that’s french braided to the side and flowers placed nicely in their hair. “Are you R?” Their voice is soft, but masculine. And one of their arms is covered in writing. “I’m Jehan. Please come in and join us. E needs you here.”

 

Grantaire can’t help but nod and walk into Enjolras’ apartment. It’s his first time in here, which is weird because even Eponine has been here. And it’s currently messy and filled with people.

 

Enjolras emerges from the kitchen, his arm around a curly-haired man leaning against him and speaking rapidly in French. Another man with glasses pulls the dark haired man away from Enjolras with an apology.

 

“Enj! Your boyfriend is here!”

 

“ _Il n’est pas mon petit copain_ …” Grantaire has no idea what that means but it makes Jehan laugh.

 

“ _Pas encore, mon cheri. Mais il t’aime et tu l’aimes_.” And Grantaire is fully lost now. But Enjolras blushes and the man with glasses guffaws loudly but remains silent when Enjolras shoots him a look that would kill any seasoned warrior. “Let me introduce you to our friends.”

 

Jehan takes Grantaire by the hand and walks them around the room. “This bald man here is Bossuet and these are his two lovers, Jolllly and Musichetta.” They wave when they hear their names. “This is Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Enj’s best friends.” The drunk man with black curly hair waves frantically at Grantaire

 

“You are as beautiful as E said. I am very glad to meet your face!” Courfeyrac seems friendly enough. And Combeferre smiles at his partner fondly before holding out a hand for Grantaire to take.

 

“Good to finally meet you.” And his accent is flawless. Grantaire decides pretty quickly that he really likes Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

 

There's another handsome man leaning against the wall scrolling through his phone. But he looks up to smile at Grantaire when he's introduced. “This is Feuilly and...that’s everybody.” Jehan says and pulls them into the kitchen and lets go of his hand. “Wine?”

 

“No thank you. I’m four months sober.”

 

“Well, done. Better than the rest of us.” Jehan says with one of the most genuine smiles Grantaire has ever seen in his life. “But surely you must be hungry. When Enjolras hosts, we all know to bring food.” They sweep out an arm and show Grantaire all of the hors d’oeuvres on the countertop. And it all looks so good that his stomach starts growling. “Please eat. We French love food.”

 

And suddenly Grantaire is very curious about the French population of Chicago and how the hell Enjolras knows all of these people. But he feels like that could be an awkward question to ask, so he remains silent and fills a plate with food. Enjolras comes into the kitchen and Jehan winks at Grantaire and leaves.

 

“Hey, R. I’m glad you could make it…” Enjolras is shifting on his feet like he’s nervous. Which is preposterous because this is Enjolras we’re talking about and he doesn’t get nervous about anything ever. “I, uh…”

 

While he’s thinking about what to say, Grantaire takes this moment to quickly swallow down a piece of honeydew melon. But instead of saying whatever it was that he wanted to say, Enjolras surges forward and presses his lips to Grantaire’s hard as soon as he’s finished swallowing his food. His fingers twine in his hair and he drags him closer. Grantaire moans a little bit and he needs to take a breath before this gets too real too fast, so he oh so reluctantly pulls away from Enjolras just for a second to confirm that this is real. And Enjolras’ eyes are like fire on him, his pupils are huge and his fingers and clenching on his hair and Grantaire has always had a thing for hair pulling.

 

And Grantaire basically drops his plate onto the counter and yanks Enjolras closer by the hem of his shirt. He feels Enjolras grab him by the ass and lift him up onto the counter and Grantaire responds by wrapping his legs around him. Enjolras’ mouth leaves his and kisses down his neck as his hands travel from thighs to underneath his shirt. Grantaire can hardly believe that this is happening and he tilts his head back and moans. And Enjolras rolls his hips forwards and there’s hardness in his slacks and Grantaire almost blows his load right there if it weren’t for Courfeyrac stumbling into the kitchen.

 

“I’ve been selected to tell you two to not have sex in the kitchen where we can all see and hear you.” But Enjolras doesn’t move away, so Grantaire is perfectly content staying right where he is. Courfeyrac sighs with his entire existence. “Why don’t you go next door?”

 

Enjolras brightens at that idea and lifts Grantaire straight off of the counter and starts to carry him out of the apartment. Grantaire, for his part, does not squeak in surprise and he certainly does not press his face into Enjolras’ neck. The room goes strangely quiet as they exit. And then Courfeyrac yells, “Use protection, you scoundrels!”

 

It takes a weird amount of finagling, but Grantaire manages to get his door unlocked in his current position and Enjolras seems pleased with that. As soon as they’re inside, Enjolras presses Grantaire’s body against the door and slots their mouths together. The heat has subsided just a little bit, but that hasn’t stopped the feeling of elation that has been flowing through Grantaire since the kiss first started.

 

Enjolras grips at Grantaire’s thighs and with a moan, he rolls his hips against him and Grantaire rolls his head back against the door and groans. Enjolras nips at his neck and that sends a shock straight down to his cock.

 

“Enj, please, please, tell me we’re doing this.”

 

“Yes.” Enjolras replies, breathless. They make it into Grantaire’s room and Enjolras all but drops him onto the bed, but he’s on him again in seconds, pushing up his shirt and nipping at his stomach. “ _Je te veux_ …”

 

This is better than Grantaire ever imagined. He throws his shirt across the room in his haste and sets to unbuttoning Enjolras’ shirt. But Enjolras is way ahead of him and is trying to get his pants off. And after a few awkward pulls and movements, they’re clad in only their underpants. And Grantaire loves the sight of Enjolras kneeling above him, cock straining against his briefs.

 

“I want you to fuck me.” Grantaire’s mouth is loose, now that he finally knows that his is happening. Enjolras groans and palms himself.

 

“I will.” He promises. “But I want to look at you.” Enjolras mumbles something in French as he moves down to press kisses and licks and nips to the inside of Grantaire’s thighs. And he’s never pinned himself for being particularly ticklish, but he finds himself squirming under Enjolras’ ministrations. “I love seeing you like this. _Si belle_. I can’t wait to have my cock inside of you, fucking into your tight heat.” Grantaire is squirming so much now that Enjolras pins his hips down and mouths at his dick through his boxers, earning him a loud moan. “I wanna see you fucking yourself against me because you want more of me.”

 

His mouth is filthy, and it’s doing sinful things to Grantaire. “Please please…” He mumbles out, trying to press his hips back up into Enjolras’ mouth.

 

“I’ve been waiting so long for you to make a move. And seeing you in my kitchen, with such a tight shirt on. I couldn’t wait anymore. I just needed to have you.” Enjolras finally acquiesces and pulls Grantaire’s boxers down so that he can take his cock into his mouth fully. He licked up from balls to tip, keeping his eyes on Grantaire’s the whole time. His glasses are starting to slip down his nose and, god, if this wasn’t so sexy, he’d be really cute. Grantaire threads his fingers through Enjolras’ hair as a signal to please keep going.

 

Grantaire lets out moans every time he feels Enjolras tonguing the tip of his cock and it sends shocks of heat through his entire body. He presses his fists to his eyes, trying to catch his breath. Enjolras pulls away and starts kissing up Grantaire’s abdomen and along his sides and takes a small bite at one of his nipples. A shudder goes through Grantaire’s whole body and he’s surprised he didn’t come there and then. He absent-mindedly reaches a hand out and rubs at Enjolras’ cock through his boxers.

 

“Come down here and kiss me.” So he does. And it feels sweeter than the others. And R loves the taste of himself in Enjolras’ mouth. “Please fuck me. Oh, please, I need you.”

 

Enjolras moans. “Stuff?” He grunts out and Grantaire waves over to the bedside tables. There’s shuffling for a moment, the sound of a bottle clicking open, and then there’s something cold skimming along his entrance. “ _Ca va_?” Even in his limited knowledge of French, Grantaire at least knows what that means. He nods frantically, trying to push down on the finger. Enjolras slides a finger into him and the stretch feels good so far. And he starts pressing back even as Enjolras adds another finger. And soon it gets to be too much but not enough at the same time. It feels so much better than anything he ever did for himself.

 

“Please...please...Enjolras…” Enjolras is panting above him and he’s trying very hard to control himself, even as he adds a third finger into Grantaire. And it’s as though Grantaire doesn’t have full reign over his body anymore, as he presses down as hard as he can on Enjolras’ fingers. And then they’re gone and he feels strangely empty. He faintly hears the sound of foil opening and then Enjolras is pressing into him and when he finally bottoms out, he lets out a beautiful guttural noise.

 

“Oh, R...you feel so good.” Grantaire is gripping onto Enjolras’ shoulders, pulling him down so that they’re flush together. And who cares if that will get them sweatier faster, feeling them skin against skin is the most exquisite feeling. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You’re so beautiful.”

 

Grantaire wants to fight that, but he’s currently a blubbering mess, moaning with each thrust and running his nails down Enjolras’ back. And he cries out when Enjolras finds his prostate. “Oh there, there. Please--Ah...Enjolras…”

 

And Enjolras seems to make it his mission to find that spot in Grantaire with every rough thrust. Enjolras pulls away a bit to run his fingers through Grantaire’s hair and pull sharply and he gasps and he’s fully aware of his cock twitching on his stomach.

 

“Do you like that? You like it when I pull your hair? Do you like feeling my cock inside of you. You look so wanton for me. You’re begging for it. How long have you wanted me for Grantaire? How many times have you stroked your cock while thinking about me? Did you think of me coming inside of you? Your mouth? Your ass?” Grantaire can’t answer, only tighten his grip on Enjolras’ shoulders as he gets fucked into the mattress. “Answer me.” He pulls sharply on Grantaire’s hair, forcing his eyes open. And Grantaire meets his eyes.

 

“Yes, sir.” He doesn’t know where those words came from, but he must have said something right, because Enjolras groans and presses him harder into the mattress.

 

“Are you going to be good and cum for me?”

 

“Ah yes…” Enjolras wraps his hand around Grantaire’s cock. It only takes a few strokes, but between the hard thrusts and touches to his cock, Grantaire spills his release onto Enjolras’ hand and on his own stomach and chest. And a few thrusts later, Enjolras lets out a low moan and finishes into Grantaire. He collapses on top of him, smearing semen over the both of them, but neither of them seem to care.

 

They lay panting for an indeterminate amount of time. Eventually, Enjolras moves first. Grantaire feels him slip out and hears him a make a weird noise in the back of his throat when he pulls off his condom and ties it off. He climbs off the bed to toss it out and comes back with a box of tissues. He takes his time cleaning off Grantaire and then cleans himself off with less tenderness.

 

He collapses back onto the bed and gather Grantaire into his arms. “You’re beautiful. And if you ever feel uncomfortable doing anything we me, please tell me.”

 

Grantaire cuddles closer into Enjolras. “That was the best sex I have ever experienced in my life. I’m sure it only gets better. Also, your English dirty talk is really good. Maybe next time...French…?” He asks hopefully.

 

Enjolras pulls the blankets over them and chuckles. “We shall see.”

 

“Are your friends going to be okay in your apartment?”

 

Grantaire only receives a shrug as an answer. And maybe he should be a little concerned, but if Enjolras isn’t, then he won’t be either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...dirty talk is one of my biggest kinks. And maybe we'll be exploring some small amounts of humiliation. But I don't know how comfortable I am writing that... I hope you liked my porn. And...I'll have more chapters up in coming days
> 
> "Il n'est pas mon petit copain" -- He is not my boyfriend
> 
> "Pas encore, mon cheri. Mais il t'aime et tu l'aimes" -- Not yet, my love. But he likes you and you like him
> 
> "Je te veux" -- I want you
> 
> "Ca va" -- It's going (but in this context, Enjolras is asking if Grantaire is okay)


	6. What a Wonderful Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy start, a snowball fight, and more Eponine? What a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post this. This week has been insane for me (guess who's single now. ME!) Hahahaha, I'm a mess. Anyways, thank you all so much for reading this weird whatever the hell it is. I thank everyone who's left kudos and comments and just having read it in general, I'm so thankful to all of you <3

When Grantaire awakes the next morning, he’s warmer than he’s ever been. And he’s way more well-rested than he’s ever been. He tries to turn over, but instead arms tighten around him and he keeps still. He settles back into Enjolras’ arms and sighs.

 

“World’s best couple.” A new voice comes from doorway and both Grantaire and Enjolras shoot up in bed. “Oh. There they are. Finally awake. It’s almost noon.”

 

“I told you to leave them alone.” Combeferre yells from down the hall.

 

“Courf...please…” Enjolras groans and sinks into the bed.

 

“How did you get in my apartment?” Grantaire asks. Because really. 

 

Courfeyrac laughs. “In your haste to copulate last night, you may or may not have left your door unlocked.” And then he leaves.

 

Enjolras falls back onto the bed and presses his hands into his eyes. “Do you ever wish you have different friends?”

 

Grantaire laughs, full bodied and presses a kiss to Enjolras’ cheek just because he can. “Never. I’m friends with my friends because of who they are at all points in time. Even if they are little shits.”

 

“That’s a mean thing to say.” Enjolras peaks out from behind his hands and scrutinises Grantaire carefully. “Will you kiss me again?”

 

“Whenever you ask.” Grantaire kisses him fully on the lips and runs his hand over his blonde god’s chest. “Also, ‘little shit’ is a term of endearment.”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. He pulls back Grantaire’s curtains and light floods in, illuminating everything in Grantaire’s room. Including a tonne of paintings of Enjolras, leaning against the wall, one still unfinished on his easel. Grantaire holds his breath, waiting for the fallout and the storm of anger.

 

But Enjolras stands stock still, glorious in his nakedness and with the sunlight on his skin, he’s glowing and Grantaire wants to capture this moment for the rest of his life. It’ll be the next painting. Since he’ll probably never see this again.

 

“ _Je regarde si belle_ …” Enjolras finally speaks, and his voice sounds surprised in a quiet sort of way. Then he wheels around and looks at Grantaire, eyes blazing. “Give me one.”

 

And that’s definitely not the reaction Grantaire had been expecting. To be honest, if he found out someone had been painting him semi-obsessively, that would have been the end of that relationship (actually, probably not. Artists are weird like that.)

 

“Yeah,” R’s voice comes out as a croak, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah. Whichever you want.”

 

“All of them…?” Enjolras sounds a little hopeful. “You make me look so beautiful.”

 

Grantaire scoffs at that. “These don’t even compare to you as a person, ange. Your beauty is incapable of being captured in anything less than photos. And even then, those photographs still would do you justice.”

 

“You called me ange…” Enjolras climbs back into bed and presses Grantaire into the mattress, kissing him hard on the mouth. Grantaire tangles his fingers in his hair and drags him closer. It feels amazing to finally be able to do this. It feels like he’s waiting for so long. Enjolras grinds down on him through the sheets and Grantaire pulls his mouth away with a moan and cranes his head back and Enjolras immediately goes for his neck. “I want to fuck you again.”

 

“No! NO!” Courfeyrac is back in the room, and he gets an eyeful of Enjolras’ bare ass and he covers his eyes immediately. “Please do not have sex again. We had plans for the day, Enj, and we intend to keep you on them.”

 

Enjolras sighs and stands up, making Courfeyrac leave the room with an undignified squeak. “ _Attends une minute, s’il vous plait_.” He calls out to Grantaire’s living room as he pulls his clothes back on. “Would you like to join us today?”

 

Grantaire has been staying perfectly silent for a while. He’s sure his face is bright red and he’s sure that the lump in his throat won’t go away for the rest of life, rendering him mute until the day he dies. But he manages to nod at Enjolras, even though he’s sure that his first impression on Enjolras’ best friends had been less than cordial.

 

Enjolras laughs, full bodied and loud, and Grantaire has never heard a more wonderful sound. Seeing Enj’s eyes crinkle at the corners makes his heart twist something fierce, and before he knows it, Grantaire is on his feet and across the room in seconds, pressing his lips against Enjolras’ so tenderly. Because, god, he loves this man so much. This side of him and the passionate side and the side that seems like he doesn’t know how to take care of himself. Grantaire wants the whole package, and he tries to pour into this sweet chaste kiss all the emotions and love that he feels for this man.

 

Enjolras must feel it, because when they part, his eyes are still closed for a moment, and when they open, he looks at Grantaire with wonder. “ _Incroyable_ …” He touches a hand to his lips as though trying to commit it to memory. “I’m going to take a few paintings to my apartment and brush my teeth.” He pulls away from Grantaire and picks up several paintings and leaves.

 

Grantaire barely manages to get pants on when Courfeyrac bursts back into his room. “What did you do to him? He was very red! Will he be coming back? Should we leave? Do you mind us being here?” He’s very cute, so Grantaire only chuckles at his inquisition.

 

“He’s just going to wash up and then he’ll be back. I hope you don’t mind that I got invited to spend time with y’all today.” Grantaire pulls on a henley and a hoodie. “You can stick around until he comes back.” He goes into the bathroom to wash up. He should probably shower since he wasn’t able to last night after work. But he doesn’t want to keep anyone waiting, so he sucks up feeling disgusting and goes out into his living room. Enjolras is back and sporting a sweater vest.

 

Grantaire has never seen a more beautiful sweater vest in his life.

 

“Looking good, Apollo.”

 

Enjolras looks down at himself in shock. “Thank you…?”

 

Courfeyrac laughs. “You like his nerd sweaters? His entire closet is sweaters and slacks. You definitely are in love with the right person if you like sweaters.” The room goes silent. Grantaire may feel that way, but he’s never going to say it out loud. And Enjolras’ face is red. Thankfully, Combeferre arises from Grantaire’s sofa and clears his throat.

 

“There is fresh snowfall outside. Make sure to dress accordingly.” Grantaire pulls his boots on and a black peacoat from the coat rack by the door. And after thinking about it, he pulls two pairs of gloves out and hands a pair to Enjolras.

 

“I really like your fingers.” Grantaire practically shoves them into Enjolras’ hands when he doesn’t immediately take them. “So, keep them from not falling off of your body.”

 

And Courfeyrac whispers, not so quietly, to Combeferre, “Love is in the air.” And all in English, so they can all understand him.

 

Grantaire blushes and pushes his way out through his front door. Enjolras immediately links their arms together and smiles at the questioning look Grantaire is no doubt giving him. “My friends are a lot.” A short silence. “Courfeyrac is a lot. He has a lot of...spunk?” Enjolras nods to himself, as though affirming that that is indeed the word he wants to use.

 

They get outside, and the snow is fresh and beautiful. And the streets and sidewalks are already salted and shovelled. But Enjolras lets go of Grantaire and steps out into the snow as though he’s never seen it before. His eyes are wide and the cold makes his cheeks and the tip of his nose pink, and Grantaire finds himself captivated by this beautiful man.

 

He’s thrilled to just be able to watch, until he sees something flying towards Enjolras’ head. And before Grantaire something, the snowball hits Enj right in the back of his head. And the change from awe some bewilderment is a surprisingly cute change. And Grantaire wants to feel bad, but instead, he starts laughing, full bodied and shoulders shaking.

 

Enjolras shoots him a betrayed look and picks up a handful of snow and rolls it into a ball. And for a moment, Grantaire thinks that it’ll be aimed at his head, but grins triumphantly when Enjolras throws it right at Courfeyrac’s face. Combeferre steps away pretty quickly, not wanting to get covered in snow, which melts and becomes water, which is cold and uncomfortable. But there’s no way that Grantaire isn’t in on this. He rolls himself a few snowballs and throws one that lands right in the centre Enjolras’ chest. And the blonde looks scandalised, and even more so when another snowball hits him in the face.

 

Grantaire doubles over with laughter, and laughs even harder when Courfeyrac starts rolling rather large sized balls of snow. Combeferre is fondly shaking his head and wisely staying a short distance away, but takes a few more steps back when Courfeyrac picks up a torso sized snowball. He looks between Enjolras and Grantaire, and he must settle on Grantaire because now he’s moving forward pretty quickly for someone so small. And before he can even think of dodging, Courfeyrac shoves the giant ball of snow right into Grantaire’s face.

 

And it’s cold. It’s really cold. Because it’s snow. But it’s also hilarious and Grantaire is laughing and shivering and choking on snow as he laughs. And there are hands on his shoulders and more hands on his face clearing the snow off. Enjolras is the first thing that Grantaire can see when the snow is finally cleared from his face and he looks concerned. But he’s still laughing, so Enjolras does too.

 

“ _Je suis vraiment désolé_...I realise we aren’t that close.” Courfeyrac is red and standing off to the side, his gloves and sleeves covered in snow.

 

“It’s fine. I liked you pretty much instantly.” Grantaire gives himself a small shake, getting the rest of the snow off of his body. “But I think there were plans today. We should get to them. Hopefully they’re in warm places.”

 

“Oh! Yes! But first, hot chocolate!” They set to walking to Musain, because the chocolate is homemade and because it feels familiar, and it’s also apparently on the way to wherever they’re going.

 

Courfeyrac grabs Combeferre’s hand and starts speaking quickly in French and he seems excited, but Grantaire can’t understand a single word he’s saying. Enjolras smiles slightly to himself and falls in step next to Grantaire.

 

They walk in companionable silence, watching Courfeyrac and Combeferre interact with each other, and Grantaire has to admit that the two of them seem perfect for each other. Combeferre has a sweet quiet to himself, but squeezes Courfeyrac’s hand and kisses it periodically. And Courfeyrac seems to do enough talking for the both of them, but he voice is kind and he enjoys each kiss he’s given if his blush is anything to go by.

 

Grantaire has lost himself in thought, but he’s snapped back to reality when he feels Enjolras slip their hands together. He looks over at the Frenchman who avoids his eyes, but his face is red and it sends a shock of something warm through Grantaire’s entire body. And it feels amazing. They still don’t speak, but the rest of walk to Musain is comfortable.

 

When they finally make it, Eponine is behind the counter with one of their newly hired baristas, Marcy, teaching her how to make latte art. She looks up with the doors open and her eyes immediately drop to Enjolras and Grantaire’s entwined hands. “Oh? Look at this development. Something big happens and you don’t even text me. And new friends?” She looks at the other two men questioningly.

 

“Hey, Ep.” Grantaire greets and for some reason, Courfeyrac giggles and whispers something in Combeferre’s ear. “Sorry I didn’t text you, but I didn’t really have a moment to myself.” He nudges his head in Enjolras’ direction and winks.

 

“Eww.” Eponine groans. “Tell me about your friends.”

 

“I’m sorry I laughed earlier.” Courfeyrac speaks up. “But I thought it was funny that he doesn’t just call you ‘Hep’. Your name is also a pun. Hep is a pretty common greeting in French.”

 

“Too many puns for me in this life.” Enjolras mutters and Grantaire chooses to ignore him. Puns are the only way to salvation, after all.

 

“I can dig it. Yeah, R, start calling me Hep. I think I like it.” She leans against the counter. “My full name is Eponine, so who are you?”

 

“I am Combeferre and this is my partner, Courfeyrac.” Combeferre offers a hand and she accepts it. “Wait, Eponine… You’re dating Cosette right?”

 

Eponine blushes and gets a little flustered for a moment. “Yeah, dating. We’re totally doing the dating thing.”

 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow and looks at her a little bit like she’s crazy. But Combeferre presses on before he can say anything. “Marius was in love with her. I am very thrilled to meet the woman who stole his love from him. You are radiant.” The comment seems a little backhanded at first, but he says it so kindly, there’s no way that he’s saying it to insult her.

 

“Thank…you…?” She clears her throat. “Anyways...do you want anything to drink?”

 

“Oh! Yes, please!” Courfeyrac bounds towards the counter and leans against it. “We all want hot cocoa.” Grantaire blinks, because he definitely wants coffee.

 

“Add two shots to mine.” He says before she starts making the drinks.

 

“Mine too, please.” Enjolras adds in. And for safe measure, Eponine looks at Combeferre who nods also.

 

Courfeyrac pouts. “I can’t believe I’m the only one getting normal hot cocoa.”

 

“I’ll put marshmallows in yours.” Eponine says, a little dryly, but she nonetheless pulls out a bag of marshmallows as she and Marcy set to making the drinks. “Hey, Marcy, you’ve met R right?”

 

Marcy nods a little frantically. “Just briefly while I was doing my new hire paperwork.” She speaks quietly and quickly.

 

“Good. He’s the best one here, so if you ever have a question and we’re both around, you should definitely ask him because I will tell you wrong.” Eponine adds vanilla to all of the drinks just to make them that much sweeter. “Also, his name is technically Grantaire and that’s his boyfriend Enjolras.” Enjolras’ face goes impossibly red and he’s pretty sure she says things like that just to get him to blush. “Oh my god.” She laughs, not unkindly.

 

“We aren’t--” Enjolras starts.

 

“It’s fine. I won’t judge you for being in love with that ugly mug.” Eponine and Marcy push out their drinks one-by-one and finally adds marshmallows to Courfeyrac’s hot chocolate. Eponine takes a lot at Grantaire’s face and laughs, head tilted back and hands on her belly. “Oh, you two. You really need to get your shit together. And I’m sure you know I don’t think you’re ugly, R. You’re a beautiful. Black hair, green eyes. It’s the best combination.”

 

“It really is.” Enjolras mutters and takes a sip of his mocha. “ _Tres bien_ , Eponine. But we really must be going.” And he leaves the cafe.

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac thank Eponine for their drinks and leave the cafe also, leaving just Grantaire behind. “Hey, Ep…” He starts off mildly sheepish.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. You know how I get.” She reaches her hand out to him and he takes it instantly. “Look, man. I’m just really happy for you two. You haven’t seemed this happy in a really long time. And I hope you get off your ass and make an honest man out of him.” Grantaire blushes again. “Not immediately. I’m just saying that you two are pretty much perfect together and I like seeing you like this.” With a small struggle, she manages to lean across the counter far enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll try to reign in it next time.”

 

“Thank you, Eponine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Grantaire gives her hand one more squeeze and then leaves. Enjolras grabs his hand as soon as he’s outside.

 

“Come, ‘Aire. Let’s go get a cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp* A cat! I just really love cats, and I want all the cats in all the world to be my friends. And Enj just seems like a cat person...Cat man. Anyways, French translation???
> 
> "Je regarde si belle" -- I look so beautitful
> 
> "ange" -- angel
> 
> "Attends une minute, s'il vous plait" -- wait a moment, please (there's supposed to be a weird accent thing over the i in plait, but my computer is dumb and doesn't have that... lol
> 
> "Incroyable" -- incredible
> 
> "Je suis vraiment desole" -- I am so sorry


	7. Caaaaats?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enj gets a cat or two or something like that and then...sex????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank so much! All of you have been so amazing during this experience, and I've been having a blast writing this. I'm sorry that it takes me forever to get chapters up. It's just so much harder when there's smut involved. Anyways, this is probably my favourite chapter so far.

Grantaire isn’t sure what the feeling he has is when he sees Enjolras playing with a room full of kittens. Enjolras is sitting in the middle of floor and he has about six kittens all over him; in his lap, on his shoulders, crying for attention under his hands. Grantaire feels warm staring at the man he loves playing with kittens and meowing back at them and cooing at them in French.

 

“How many should I get?” Enjolras looks up at Grantaire with a sweet look on his face. _How many_ … It seems like the wrong question to ask.

 

“As many as you’d like.” He answers and it seems to be the wrong answer because Enjolras makes a sound of frustration and picks up more cats and holds them between his crossed legs.

 

“But what if I got...all of them?”

 

“You wouldn’t be able to take care of this many cats, Enjolras.” Combeferre says from his place in a chair couple feet away from the play area. He’s still holding a cat that keeps trying to get onto his shoulders. “I’d limit you to two cats.”

 

“Two seems a good number.” Enjolras lies back and more cats swarm his stomach and chest. And Grantaire gets the feeling that if Enjolras died covered by cats, he would die a happy man. “Which two? R, I need your help. Pick two for us.” A pause and he furrows his eyebrows. “Me…?”

 

Grantaire can’t say no to that and he steps carefully into the play area, trying desperately to calm his racing heart. One black kitten with bright blue eyes attaches itself to his pant leg and starts to climb up even as he walks towards Enjolras. And he likes this cat. It manages to get to his chest as he sits down carefully next to Enjolras. “What about this one?” He gestures to the cat on his chest.

 

“Yes. That one will be Rousseau.” Grantaire laughs hard at that. “And this one,” Enjolras picks up a grey and white kitten that keeps trying to sleep on his face. “Will be Fourier. He came up with the word feminism. He’s a real hero.” He kisses the kitten’s nose and Grantaire’s heart clenches painfully.

 

Before he can stop himself, he leans down so only Enjolras can hear him. “I want you to fuck me later tonight. Pin me down and whisper sinful things in my ear.” When he pulls away, he meets Enjolras’ eyes, and he finds them black with lust and his face is just barely red, but his breath is coming out in quick huffs.

 

“ _Pas autour des chats_ …” Enjolras clears his throat and picks up the kittens he wants and stands up. “ _Peut-être ce soir_.” He kisses Grantaire soundly on the lips for just a moment. “ _Definitivement ce soir_.” He walks towards the woman who’s in charge of adopting the cats out. “ _Pardon, mademoiselle_.”

 

Everything that happens after is lost to Grantaire. And soon he finds his arms full of cat food, cat litter, cat flea medication, and worm medication. “We aren’t walking back like this, right?”

 

Combeferre laughs and he’s already on his phone. “No, Grantaire. We are taking an Uber back. We’re catching a black Toyota Camry in five minutes. First numbers on the license plate are R53X.”

 

Enjolras appears in the lobby, two cat carriers in his hands and bright grin on his face. That smile is something that Grantaire has never seen in his life, and it’s blindingly beautiful. “ _J’ai des chats_.” He says and turns his smile to Grantaire, who is pretty sure that his heart just stopped. And it takes everything in him to not lunge forward and kiss his breathless.

 

“Yes you do.” He croaks out and he clears his throat. “Cat’s are great companions.” Rousseau meows in his carrier and Grantaire sticks his finger in and Rousseau licks it. “You’re a little sweetie. I love you already.”

 

“It looks like you have competition, Enj.” Courfeyrac says with amusement obvious in his eyes.

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes but continues looking at Grantaire with a sweet fondness. “I am happy you are not allergic. You Americans have so many allergies in your country.”

 

Grantaire laughs and looks up at Enjolras. “Oh? Like France is allergy free.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Enjolras answers bluntly. And Grantaire stares at him with narrowed eyes.

 

“You weirdo.” Grantaire does kiss him this time. Chastely, but it’s enough to send his heartbeat flying.

 

The Uber shows up and they all crowd into the minivan, a cat carrier on Enjolras’s lap and one on Grantaire’s. The driver looks at the cat carriers warily, but remains silent. As soon as they start moving, the cats start meowing, confused mews and loud purring. Grantaire turns the carrier so that he can look at Rousseau.

 

“Hey, kitten.” Rousseau turns to him and tries to stick his paws through the bars of the carrier, meowing even louder. “Hi. What’s wrong? We aren’t too far.” He freezes and looks over at Enjolras who is looking at him in equal parts amusement and fondness.

 

“You like cats, R? _Tu es tres mignon_.” Enjolras laughs a little and plays with Fourier’s paw.

 

The drive is short, and Combeferre tips well; bringing pets into another person’s car generally isn’t considered okay. Really, they should probably never do that again. They all thank the driver and stumble back out into the snow. The elevator is out, yay, and they live on the fourth floor. Courfeyrac takes the twenty-five pound bag of cat litter and Combeferre takes the rest of the cat stuff and they begin their ascent. By the time they reach Enjolras’ apartment, Grantaire’s legs are burning and his lungs hurt and he decides right then and there to stop smoking forever.

 

“Are you...okay?” Enjolras looks at Grantaire with barely concealed concern. And of course Apollo looks fine, being a Roman god would do that.

 

Grantaire nods. “Yeah, I just realised how out of shape I am.”

 

“I thought you box?” They let the cats out and they immediately run for shelter under the sofa.

 

“I do. It doesn’t require fighting gravity. How did you know that I box?” Grantaire is pretty sure he’s never offered that piece of information, but Enjolras just shrugs.

 

“I’ve seen your gloves.”

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac and in Enjolras’ kitchen, arguing about where Enjolras would prefer to have his cat things. There are dishes clattering and Courfeyrac starts pulling stuff out of one cabinet and setting everything down on the counter. Combeferre sighs and lets him do it. Grantaire looks at Enjolras expectantly.

 

“It’s best to just let him do what he likes.” He moves closer to Grantaire and grips the lapels of his coat. “I’ve been very excited to get you back here all day. I’ve been thinking of how you looked last night, all spread out for me.” Grantaire blushes and grabs for the front of Enjolras’ coat desperately as he keeps going. “I want to recreate that before the sun goes down, so I can see your face and all of your expressions. I’ll keep you on the edge of orgasm until you’re begging to be touched until you can’t say anything but my name. I want you speechless and quivering when I finally touch your cock and stroke you to completion.”

 

“Your friends are still here.” Grantaire mumbles, pressing his face into Enjolras’ neck. He stands a close as he can, and he’s sure that his erection is pressing against his Apollo’s thigh, but it’s his own messed up form of encouragement. “I like them, but I really want to see what your bedroom looks like.” He gently nips at the soft flesh beneath Enjolras’ chin, earning himself a small groan.

 

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac. Grantaire and I would like some privacy.”

 

Courfeyrac groans in mock disgust. “You two have sex one time and now you never want to stop.”

 

“We should let them enjoy their time together. Besides, it’s Saturday, we have...things to do.” Combeferre takes Courfeyrac by the hand and starts leading him towards the door. 

 

Enjolras and Grantaire break away from each other to say goodbye to them. And when the door closes, Enjolras is closing the gap between them, that beautiful look of determination on his face. He runs his fingers through Grantaire’s hair and pulls back sharply until his neck is bared and he just breathes against it.

 

“Tell me what you want, ‘Aire.”

 

“You. In every way that you’ll offer me.” Grantaire swallows with a little difficulty and he can feel Enjolras’ lips on his adam’s apple. Enjolras pulls off Grantaire’s coat and gloves, soon followed by his own coat. And he sets the damp garments over the backs of his barstools. He turns to look at Grantaire and offers him his hand.

 

“ _Viens avec moi_.” Grantaire nods dumbly and takes Enjolras’ hand. In the deep thrumming of his brain, he can feel the excitement of finally seeing Enjolras’ room bubbling up inside of him.

 

The room isn’t anything like he’d expected. One wall is nothing but bookshelves and they’re filled to the brim and more books are stacked neatly around them along with all of the canvases of his face that Grantaire had painted (Grantaire’s heart clenches painfully when he seems them neatly aligned). His desk is perfectly organised and the chair is pushed in neatly. The drapes to the windows are open and the setting sunlight is streaming in, giving the room a beautiful golden glow. His bed has plaid flannel sheets and they’re soft when Enjolras pushes him gently down onto them.

 

“I’m going to take you slowly today. I want to enjoy the sight of having you in my bed.” Grantaire has never thought of Enjolras as being particularly seductive with his sweaters, but seeing him pull it off makes his reconsider that. And watching him slowly unbutton each goddamn button on his shirt is starting to drive him crazy. Enjolras takes off his glasses leisurely and places them on the bedside table next to another small stack of books. “Take off your clothes.”

 

Grantaire rushes to obey, throwing his clothes all over the tidy room. Enjolras just watches him with dark eyes with a small smirk on his face. And when he’s finally naked, Enjolras crawls into the bed with him and presses their lips together. The kiss is gentle and sweet and Grantaire slides his fingers through Enjolras’ curls to pull him closer. He tilts his head slightly and the kiss deepens and Enjolras’ tongue slides along his and he groans.

 

“ _Je pense que je pourrais apprendre à t’aimer_.” Grantaire isn’t sure what that means, but it makes his heart clench all the same. Enjolras gently runs his fingers along Grantaire’s sides and stomach as though memorising every detail. His lips slide down the hollow of Grantaire’s throat and move down to one of his nipples, biting gently. Grantaire’s body bucks upwards into the movement and Enjolras’ strong hands hold him down. “Eager for me?”

 

“You have no idea.” Grantaire grits out and wants to die because how is Enjolras so okay with taking this slow right now. He wants to be fucked into the mattress, but then he feels fingers gently wrap around his cock. And you know what, nevermind, going slow is just fine. Enjolras works hims slowly, twisting his hand just slightly when he gets to the tip.

 

“I want to get you so worked up for me and when you’re close to your orgasm, I’m going to pull away and then finger you until you’re close again.” Orgasm denial, that’s pretty cruel as far as sexy times go. But Grantaire groans anyways and bucks his hips into Enjolras’ hand because, god, it feels so good. Enjolras strokes him firmly but carefully, slowly pulling him towards orgasm. Grantaire can feel the usual warmth coil through the pit of his stomach and his cock jumps involuntarily.

 

Enjolras slides his hand down to base of Grantaire’s erection and squeezes, staving off his orgasm and Grantaire keens, pressing his body back into the mattress. He’s given a moment to catch his breath while Enjolras fiddles around for supplies and finally takes his pants off. Grantaire presses his fists into his eyes and breathes carefully. And then he feels something teasing his entrance and he tenses again. Enjolras’ lips are against his ears in an instant.

 

“Relax, _mon coeur_.” And then he pushes in his finger and Grantaire lets out a strangled noise. It feels exquisite. One finger quickly becomes two and Grantaire starts rocking his hips for more friction, more everything. His hands blindly reach out until he feels his fingers sliding through Enjolras’ curls and he pulls in retribution. He doesn’t expect Enjolras to moan loudly and bite his ear sharply. The fingers are gone quickly replaced with Enjolras’ lubed cock.

 

Grantaire groans, because, fuck he’s bare, and they really shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels so good and they’re clean, but fuck it’s so bad and it makes him that much harder. Enjolras scratches his fingernails down Grantaire’s sides and begins to gently rock his hips as though getting used to the feeling.

 

“I wanted to take this slow, R…” Enjolras whispers in his ear.

 

“I didn’t know you liked getting your hair pulled.” Grantaire is proud of himself for being able to form words. His hands start to creep up to Enjolras’ hair again, but he’s pinned down.

 

“I am half-tempted to tie you up.” Grantaire groans in response. “Oh?” Enjolras sounds genuinely delighted. “You would like that wouldn’t you. You’d want me to tie your arms behind your back and make you beg for me? What if I tied you to the headboard and stroked myself to completion and came on you? Would you like that? Even if I offered you no release.”

 

“Yes...god yes, yes.” Grantaire moans. This man will be the death of him. Enjolras snaps his hips forward, drawing a loud moan from Grantaire’s lips. Each hard thrust is so close to where Grantaire needs it, but it’s like Enjolras is purposefully avoiding it. “Ange, please.” Enjolras chuckles in his ear and he feels like dying. “C’mon and fuck me.”

 

Enjolras finally finally angles his hips just right and hits the glorious bundle of nerves in Grantaire’s body that makes stars swim before his eyes and his heartbeat go into overdrive. Grantaire tries to pull his hands back to himself, but Enjolras holds him down tight.

 

“R, you feel so good. I want to cum in you so bad. Can I?” Grantaire nods furiously, because, yes, he wants to know what that feels like. Enjolras lets go of Grantaire’s wrist and winds one hand through the dark curls. His lips are still pressed hotly against the artist’s ear and his breathing is hitching and it’s doing sinful things to Grantaire’s body. His fingers tighten in R’s hair and his hips stutter and grinds down hard, emptying himself deep into Grantaire. He groans lowly, working his hips and feeling the tight heat milking him dry.

 

Enjolras pulls out when he’s spent and immediately wraps his lips around Grantaire’s cock and pushes three fingers into him, lubed with his cum, fucking into him hard. Grantaire can’t stop the moans coming out of him and it doesn’t take long before he’s spilling his seed down Enjolras’ throat. It feels like his heart will beat out of his chest as his cock throbs with a powerful spurts.

 

Enjolras’ throat works him to the point of oversensitivity and he finally pulls off. But his eyes stay fixed on Grantaire’s entrance, watching transfixed as his cum leaks out of him. “You are beautiful, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire wants to fight that, but he’s much to hazy to do much of anything than just lay there. There’s something dry rubbing against his ass reverently and then he’s clean. Arms wind tight around him, and one leaves briefly to pull the blankets over them. He mumbles something at Enjolras and he isn’t sure what it is, but it makes Enjolras tense. And then he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my friends. Always practice safe sex. Always always always. Love, Grandma Ell (i'm only 22)  
> Anyways...Translations (I was having more trouble with my French than usual, so I resorted to google translate and I feel so ashamed!)
> 
> "Pas autour les chats" -- Not in front of the cats  
> "Peut-etre ce soir" -- maybe this evening  
> "Definitivement ce soir" -- definitely this evening  
> "J'ai des chats" -- I have cats (probably the cutest thing Enjolras has ever said)  
> "Tu es tres mignon" -- You are very cute  
> "Viens avec moi" -- Come with me  
> "Je pense que je pourrais apprendre à t’aimer" -- I think I could learn to love you (this is the sentence I googled)
> 
> Also, Enjolras with cats is the cutest image I've ever had in my mind and I just want it to be true forever and ever. Although, if he can barely take care of himself, how is he going to take care of cats? Good thing he has a really beautiful neighbour...
> 
> Also, be nice to your uber drivers, and don't bring pets into their cars, I just couldn't think of how else to get them back home other than the bus, but there isn't a bus that goes to and from their location in Chicago...


	8. More Pining, Eponine Stle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine and Cosette plan for a...date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Someone called me out on this being all about sex and they helped me remember the whole point of writing this to begin with: I wanted fluff (and sex of course), but mostly fluff. I wanted this make my heart clench when rereading it, and I haven’t been feeling that way. So I’mma take a step back. Big thank you Whisky for calling me out, I really appreciate it, I would have kept going in a weird direction that I never wanted to take. So...let’s have some cuteness, shall we?

Eponine and Cosette have been dancing ever since Marius introduced them. Cosette has come into Musain once, and Grantaire had teased Eponine for how red her lips were. But, god, not from kissing; from gnawing at them at ever nervous moment she had (which was a lot). Courting someone has never been more confusing for her in her life. Usually it was, ‘hey, you aren’t disgusting, let’s go back to my place’. But with Cosette, Eponine wants to hold hands and feel her cold, sweet hands on her cheeks…

 

Eponine lets out a groan of frustration and pulls herself two shots of espresso. Unlike Enjolras, Grantaire’s paramour, Eponine takes her coffee as bitter as she can get it, which means grinding extra espresso and letting the shots pour for a few seconds longer than considered ‘good’ espresso. There are cupcakes in the case today and she can’t help but grab a red velvet, because cream cheese frosting is the best.

 

The shop is quiet for a Monday morning, but she really doesn’t mind. She gets to pick the music, a holiday playlist called Christmas and Chill that she made for the days that she gets to work alone. Working alone is the best, people tip better when they see just one person behind the counter and that thrills her to her tiny black core. So she leans back and listens to her music and sips at her espresso until someone finally comes in.

 

It takes about an hour before the next customer comes in, but when she looks up, she sees Grantaire and Enjolras, linked hand-in-hand, and seeing them makes her stomach lurch. She loves Grantaire like a brother and she knows that the envy is personal, she just wants to have someone look at her like she’s the sun. And Enjolras stares at Grantaire reverently when Grantaire leans over the counter to grab a cup and the vanilla syrup.

 

“This crazy guy likes cinnamon vanilla lattes, with extra vanilla. I’ll just take a mocha.”

 

“Then put your own chocolate in a cup.” Eponine smirks and pushes the bottle of chocolate towards him as she starts to pull more shots. She prides herself on keeping a clean workspace, and watching Grantaire spill vanilla and chocolate on the counter is enough to almost drive her crazy, but she rolls her eyes and throws a rag at him.

 

“I’m not on the clock.” Grantaire complains.

 

“Then don’t make messes.” Enjolras chimes in, pressing a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek.

 

Eponine doesn’t even try to suppress a gag. “You two are disgusting. Can’t you go enjoy your honeymooning period somewhere else?”

 

“Oh, yes. We’re going to the Museum of Science and Industry today. Ange, here, has never been there before.” Grantaire turns more towards Enjolras. “Which I think is preposterous, Mister I-Science-All-The-Time-And-Am-Also-Very-Righteous.”

 

Enjolras furrows his eyebrows and mouths words and even Eponine has to admit that it’s a little cute that he does that. She pushes their drinks towards them and rings them through the computer. “Well, have fun. I’m surprised that R is taking you to the Art Institute first.”

 

“Eponine, you know that I could spend literal hours there. And I don’t think he’s ready for that side of me yet.” Grantaire finally cleans up his mess and gives a cheery wave on his way out.

 

“Thank you for the coffee, Eponine.” Enjolras says as he practically pulled out of the shop.

 

Eponine waves back and leans back against the counter. It had been nice to have some noise in the store; it can get just a little bit lonely after hours and hours of being alone.

 

After an indeterminate amount of time of Eponine staring off into space, a sweet voice pulls her from her reverie. “Eponine?” Standing on the other side of the counter is Cosette. She looks absolutely beautiful in her powder blue pea coat and white blanket scarf. Her blonde curls are in some places caught underneath her scarf and part cascading down her shoulders. Eponine is staring and she can’t seem to stop herself.

 

“Hey.” Eponine swallows thickly and steps closer to the register counter. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

 

Cosette blushes and looks down and Eponine instantly regrets her words. But Cosette pushes on, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I’ve been doing some thinking…” She takes her hands out her pockets again, tugging at the tips of her gloves. “I’m on my lunch break.” Cosette adds as an afterthought. Eponine doesn’t think she’s ever seen Cosette like this and it’s making her strangely giddy. “Anyways, I think that maybe...there’s this gala tonight for French diplomats. This is silly, never mind. I'll just go. I'm sorry for bothering you.”

 

As Cosette turns to go, Eponine practically launches herself over the counter and manages to catch Cosette by the hand. The wood of the counter is digging painfully into her stomach and she hit her knee painfully on the drawing beneath the register, but it’s fine, because Cosette’s hands are cold so she tightens her grip.

 

Cosette eyes her carefully, the blush spreading up to her eyes. “I…”

 

“I’ll go.” Eponine isn’t sure if that’s what Cosette was going to ask, but she would go. “If you’ll have me?”

 

Cosette seems to sigh with her entire body, a smile lighting up her face. “I would. Please, it would be really nice to be there with you. It isn’t until 8 and it’s a black tie event and they always make me uncomfortable.” Eponine’s face falls, because she doesn’t own anything super fancy, being broke and all. It must show on her face because Cosette takes her hand in both of hers. “You can come by and borrow something. I have a bunch of dresses for these things. And we kind of look like the same size.” Eponine nods, unsure of herself. “I can give you my address? You can come by anytime after 6?”

 

Cosette still hasn’t let go of her hand and the touch is distracting her from everything. Daisy Ridley could walk in right now and Eponine wouldn’t move an inch. “I’ll be by right at 6.”

 

“I like in Lakeview. I’m sorry that’s a far distance for you.” Cosette lets go of Eponine’s hand and goes back to fiddling with her gloves. “I could pay for an uber for you?”

 

Eponine laughs. “No, please don’t. I’ll just take the red line up. It’ll be fine. Wait…” She looks at the time. “Are you wasting your entire lunch break to travel all the way down here just to ask me to a gala?”

 

Cosette looks offended. “A moment spent with you is never a moment wasted.” Eponine’s mouth goes dry and it takes her a moment to form words in her mouth.

 

“At least take a ham and cheese croissant.” Eponine goes to the pastry case and pulls out a croissant for Cosette who looks thankful.

 

“Thank you, Eponine.” She holds the croissant close to her heart and smiles at Eponine. And Eponine is certain that she’s never seen anyone nearly as beautiful as Cosette. “I will see you tonight.” She reaches into her apartment and slides over her card (which is in both French and English) and scrawled on the back of it in perfect tiny letters is an address uptown.

 

“See you tonight.” Eponine takes the card and runs her thumb reverently over Cosette’s handwriting as she leaves.

 

Eponine looks at the time. 12:42pm. Time is going to pass quite slowly.

 

\--- --- ---

 

It turns out that Eponine had to transfer lines to get to Cosette’s duplex on George St. The neighbourhood is ridiculously cute once she gets away from the L. And Cosette’s duplex is a sweet, white stone building. Eponine wrings her hands as she stands on the stoop right at 6. _Ring the doorbell. Just...ring the damn doorbell_. And it turns out that she doesn’t have to, because Cosette opens the door with a smile on her face.

 

“I thought that was you.” She takes Eponine’s hand and pulls her in gently. “Don’t be shy. I live humbly.”

 

She really does. Eponine looks around the living room that she finds herself as she takes her shoes off. Cosette has a grey sofa and a bright multicoloured rug, no television, but a phonograph in the corner and a whole bunch of books. The dining room is connected to the living room, and it has a small table with two chairs. Her lighting is interesting though, nothing but spotlights throughout the entire main area.

 

“This is so cute.” Eponine can’t stop herself. Cosette’s apartment style could be considered colourfully minimalistic.

 

“Thank you.” Cosette smiles brightly again and Eponine is sure that her heart can’t take much more. “Would you like something to eat? Drink? I have rosé?” She goes into her kitchen and pulls out a bottle of unopened pink wine from her refrigerator. Eponine manages to nod as she hangs her coat up on the back of the door.

 

“I’ve never had rosé before.” Or anything less strong than bourbon, but she doesn’t say that. But she takes a tentative sip when it’s handed to her and she discovers pretty instantly that this is Cosette in drink form: sweet and perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy! So I know I ended it at kind of a weird spot, but I really wanted the gala to be its own chapter. And Eponine trying on Cosette's clothes, because there's a mental image that makes my wanna cry. I hope you like the break from smut and I hope that you enjoy the Eposette (I think that's the ship name)


End file.
